


Art Imitating Life

by Doctor_Who_Cares



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Feels, Gen, Luna being Luna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 14:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Who_Cares/pseuds/Doctor_Who_Cares
Summary: Luna only draws what she sees, but she sees more than most people.





	Art Imitating Life

When Luna couldn't sleep she drew, and she couldn't sleep often. She took her drawing things outside and settled herself down on the grass, her back leaning against the school wall. She took a breath of cold, damp night air, smiling to herself. She had always loved the night. There was just something about it that intrigued her.

She began to draw. She had no real idea of what she was going to draw, just letting her mind wander. She had been thinking about the night and the dark, so she didn't find it odd then when she looked down at her page and saw her Potions professor looking back.

He was quite like the night, dark and intriguing, she thought.

Once the initial sketch was done she decided to paint it. But none of the colours were right. The blacks weren't dark enough and the flesh tones weren't pale enough.

"Miss Lovegood, I swear one of these days you will understand you're not allowed out of bed after curfew."

She looked up, but in reply only asked. "Are you alright sir?" He took a deep breath - he was too tired for this, for anything, he just wanted to sleep.

"I'm fine." He replied stiffly. "I'd be better if I wasn't up half the night making sure children stay in their beds. Or at least indoors."

"I can't sleep either." She seemed to be having a completely different conversation. "Have you ever tried drawing, sir? It helps me when I can't sleep."

"Miss Lovegood, I have no intention of ever bothering with something so pointless."

"I believe you can see things clearer in pictures than in real life, sir." That didn't even make sense, not that he expected much more from the girl. "See, sir." She held up the drawing in her hand. He was shocked when he found it was him. He looked at it closely.

He was sneering, head held high and looking proud. But when he looked closer he could see the dark circles under his eyes, the tired look deep within them; there was guilt etched deep into his features, the almost dead feel to his face. He didn't have to wonder now why she'd asked if he was alright, or point out that he was tired.

Maybe she's _not_ so random after all, she just talks to the real person not the facade we all have. She sees past the pretences and the walls.

"You're very difficult to paint, sir." She said conversationally.

"You haven't started yet."

"Yes, I'm already not sure about the colours. They aren't dark enough, or light enough. I wish I could take a piece of the black lake and use it for your hair and robes." She sighed deeply. "You'll just have to make do with the sketch."

" _Me_?"

"I want you to have it. Maybe it will help you sleep."

"I'm fine without a sub-par sketch from a student who's not supposed to be out here at this time of night." In truth the picture was amazingly realistic, and he was shocked he'd never noticed such an ability in her before.

She said nothing more on it as she walked back to her dorm. He'd have said he'd upset her if he thought that were possible, and if the girl hadn't acted in her usual unusual way.

"Goodnight sir." She said, happily skipping through the portrait.

When Snape was back to his rooms he put his hand into his pocket finding a piece of parchment, he took it out and opened it. It was the picture. That girl was better than she let on, he had no idea at what point she had slipped it into his pocket.

He went to rip it up but the single small tear at the top of the page overwhelmed him with guilt, and he fixed it immediately. He instead flattened it out carefully and framed it, putting it on his shelf then moving it to his desk. Finally it ended up on his bedside table.

No student had ever given him anything before... well other than headaches and wrinkles, and that one grey hair he had decided to name _‘Harry’..._ but other than that nothing. He had been fine with this, but the gift was still nice.

Maybe she would draw him again sometime. And maybe he wouldn't look so miserable.


End file.
